


Triptych

by Elesianne



Series: Stories for Fëanorian week 2017 [7]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alqualondë, Angst, Brother Feels, Childhood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Fëanor is a good dad until he isn't, Gen, Hope, Kinslayings, Oath of Fëanor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-02 18:52:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10224818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elesianne/pseuds/Elesianne
Summary: As children they fight with each other and later they fight side by side, until the end.Three short, thematically connected pieces about Amrod and Amras and their bond of brotherhood through centuries.





	1. Tirion // An early fight

**Author's Note:**

> Tolkien's 'canon' is at its messiest when it comes to Amrod and Amras so one has to choose what to use. For this three-part fic, I'm choosing to believe that a) Amrod=Pityafinwë (son no. 6) and Amras=Telufinwë (son no. 7); b) neither twin died at Losgar; c) both were somewhat reluctant about their father's revenge-quest-turned-kinslaying, but Amras especially.
> 
> I posted this in chapters so it's easy to read only some parts if you want. The first part is simple family interactions in childhood, fairly fluffy; the second one has blood; the third one has weariness and a strange kind of hope. Like [Maedhros' story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10222946/chapters/22684775), this fic explores how things change and yet stay the same across centuries. I was inspired by [Fëanorian week](http://feanorianweek.tumblr.com) prompts Childhood, Twin and Regrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use the Quenya names Pityafinwë/Pityo and Telufinwë/Telvo to keep track of which twin does what while in Valinor, though they call each other Ambarussa.

A sudden cry of pain and the following loud sobbing from the twins' room startles Fëanáro in his study, absorbed as he was in his task of writing down recent discoveries. He sighs, lays down his quill and hurries to see what has upset one of his youngest sons. Nerdanel is away from home, so the task is his by default.

He comes to a sudden stop at the door of the large, airy bedchamber that the twins share, for the floor is scattered with small objects. Then a child crashes into his legs from behind: it seems that the unhurt twin has also come to see what is wrong with his brother.

Fëanáro bends down to pick up the boy now clutching his leg. It is Telufinwë, which is interesting since he is usually the clumsy one prone to hurting himself. Carrying one child he negotiates his way across the messy room to see to the other little redhead crying in front of a tall armoire.

'What is it, Pityo? What happened?' Fëanáro crouches down and balances Telvo on his thigh until he has swept enough of the floor clean with his hand that he can sit down and pull both of the boys to his lap.

While he calms the distressed twins – when one is upset, so is soon the other – and makes sure that Pityafinwë has no serious injuries, Fëanáro absent-mindedly catalogues the items littering the floor.

_Artificial crystals deemed not to be of high enough quality and given to the twins as playthings, parts of their toys and puzzles, small paintbrushes, a few chestnuts and acorns, and many delicate metal pieces… are those from Carnistir's recently rejected project?_

He keeps questions and admonishments inside until the Ambarussar have quieted, only sniffling a little now and no longer clinging desperately to each other and to their father's tunic.

'How did you hurt yourself, Pityo?' Fëanáro asks again.

'I fell.'

'Did you fall because your room is very messy?'

A nod. 'I stepped on a crystal and it hurt and I jumped and then I hit my head on the cupboard.'

'The armoire', Fëanáro corrects. 'I see. And why are there crystals and many other things on the floor?'

Neither boy answers him and both avoid looking at their father, gathering from his tone that he is not happy with the state of their bedchamber.

'Pityafinwë, Telufinwë, look at me', Fëanáro orders them, and two pairs of abashed blue-grey eyes gaze up at him. 'You have been told to clear away your things after playing, and you should know better than to let your room get this messy. As Pityo has just learned, it's not just because tidiness is nice, it is also so that no one gets hurt by the mess.'

'Yes, father', both mutter obediently at first, but then Pityafinwë's wilfulness raises its head.

'It was Ambarussa who left the crystals on the floor. It is his fault I was hurt', he declares.

'And you took apart Carnistir's clockwork and left _that_ on the floor. And the acorns!' Telvo shouts, thoroughly incensed by his twin's betrayal.

Fëanáro smothers his own irritation with a sigh. When his two youngest sons aren't fiercely protecting each other, they are fighting just as furiously. He raises his voice again just as the boys are about to start flinging items from the floor at each other.

'You are clearly both to blame', he says in a voice that brooks no opposition. 'Now, Pityo is fine apart from a few bruises that will heal soon, so all will be well. But from now on you will keep the floor clear so nothing like this happens again, and right now you are going to tidy up this room and put everything in the right place. Together.'

'I'm not doing anything with _him_.' Pityo dares to mumble words of resistance, and his father shoots him a firm look.

'If you cannot work together to keep your shared room clean, perhaps it is time to consider separate bedchambers. After all there are many empty rooms–' Fëanáro stops at once when he sees how the boys pale at his words, Pityo hurrying back to Telvo to clutch his hand.

The sight cannot but melt Fëanáro's sternness away; he didn't mean his words as a threat, yet they clearly were the worst horror imaginable to the twins. 'We don't have to do that', he says to them, his voice softer now.

'No', says Pityo and starts picking up crystals and cogs and acorns. 'Because we will clean up. I'm sorry, father. Sorry, Ambarussa.'

'Sorry, Ambarussa', mutters Telvo as well.

Fëanáro fetches a basket from a shelf for the little redheads to gather the items into. 'You are stronger together than apart', he tells his youngest sons while he supervises their tidying. 'Always remember that in moments of dissent.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I adore comments and would love to hear what you think of this fic! Feel free to comment on whichever chapter you like, or on all of them :)


	2. Alqualondë // The first battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief description of fighting and for blood.

They fight side by side, and back to back, when stealing turns into killing. The few seconds when Telufinwë cannot see Pityafinwë and thinks him lost are the worst moments of the entire battle, worse than when an arrow misses him by a fraction of an inch, worse than when the first mariner falls by his sword, cursing the Noldor with his last breath, blood flowing from his mouth along with the curses.

'Ambarussa!' Telufinwë screams as loud as he can, terrified that his shout will be lost among the chaos and clamour of battle. He reaches out to his twin with all of his being.

 _Here_ , he receives, and then hears, 'Here', and Pityafinwë is by his side again. 'I had to go help Káno', Pityo explains while raising his tall shield to deflect arrows. 'But I wouldn't go far from you, I promise.'

*

The next hard moment comes when the battle is over. The Noldor led by Telufinwë's father have emerged victorious but the victory tastes of blood and horror and pain to Telufinwë, though he is unhurt save for bruised ribs and small cuts.

When Fëanáro ushers his most loyal followers onto the ships, his youngest son turns his back to his stern-faced father and brothers and, kneeling on the pier, retches into the sea.

Pityafinwë is by his side in a second, strong arms enveloping Telvo and keeping him safely moored.

'Just breathe', he tells Telvo, and if his voice trembles it is despite his best efforts.

Telvo breathes, and when he has breath enough to talk he says to his twin, 'I want to go home.'

Telvo's hoarse, teary voice twists Pityo's stomach and makes him tremble more, but he tightens his grip on him and drags him up, their combined strength keeping them standing.

'We can't turn back, not after this. We are bound by blood and Oath both now', Pityo tells his little brother – always his little brother, if only by a few minutes – because he has to.

He lays his bloody gauntlet on Telvo's cheek and Telvo does the same to him, and they lean their foreheads together for a moment.

When their father calls to them a short while later Telufinwë follows his twin to the ship and doesn't look back, not like he did when they rode away from Tirion.

*

Later they scrub away the blood from their swords and armour below deck on a ship that is being tossed and turned by the waves. The violent motions make Telufinwë think that their scrubbing may be unnecessary, for Uinen might soon wash away the Telerin blood with salt water.

'Oh Valar, it is up to my elbows', Telufinwë hears his twin mutter at his side as Pityafinwë rubs at his bracer with a wet cloth, wasting precious drinking water to wash away the proof of their sin. 'No, not the Valar, it is no use for us to invoke them now, is it? Ambarussa…' Pityo lets out a choked noise that sounds remarkably like the hysterical laughter Telvo has heard inside his own head for a while now.

This time it is Telvo who lays a firm hand on his brother's arm: this is the first crack in Pityo's veneer of strength since the battle, and it marks Telvo's turn to be the brave one.

'It is all right; we are safe now', he tells Pityo.

Objectively this is a lie, of course, since the ocean itself is doing its best to kill them. But Pityo knows what he means, what his twin says silently without words. _We are together; we are alright._

Pityo takes a deep breath, and Telvo lets go of his arm and returns to cleaning away the stubborn red spatters. _Who'd have thought it dries so fast_ , he thinks, careful not to share the thought with his twin.

'I promise I am not panicking anymore, but Ambarussa, we are up to our elbows in blood', says Pityo after a moment. And then, quietly so that none of their other brothers can hear, 'I am glad that mother didn't come. That she didn't see us like this.'

Telufinwë nods, and he scrubs and scrubs, all the world around him red and raging except for the familiar presence beside him.


	3. East Beleriand // The last battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for the tiniest mentions of fighting and blood.

It was the middle of a bitter winter the last time they prepared to storm a settlement whose inhabitants had done them no harm, and this time it is autumn, so harsh and cold that it might as well be winter already.

Amrod and Amras should be making preparations, but though the day has already passed into afternoon, they haven't made much headway.

'I am tired of waging war', Amras says, closing his eyes and leaning heavily against the back of his chair in the room he shares with his twin now that they are no longer lords.

Going to battle again feels like an inevitability, though, like it has felt every time, starting with that first shedding of elven blood in the docks of Alqualondë. In the end, until the end, Amras will follow his older brothers like he always has.

'Maybe this is the last battle.'

Amras opens his eyes at Amrod's quiet words and lets out a bitter little sound that doesn't deserve the name of a laugh. He reminds Amrod, 'There is only one Silmaril in the Havens. Even if we capture it there are two left, and they are in Morgoth's keeping.'

'Still.' Amrod stares out the window, yet Amras feels that his twin doesn't see the yard strewn with wet leaves but something much farther away.

'Still what?' Amras prompts, feeling discomfited all of a sudden. Amrod is not prone to frequent visions like some, but he has vague forebodings sometimes. An inheritance from their mother, probably.

'Still, maybe, somehow, this will be the last battle for us.' Amrod turns back to his brother and smiles, more radiant than the pale autumn sunlight. 'So that afterwards we can lay aside our swords and only ever take up bow and spear for hunting.'

'I would like that.' Surprised and comforted, Amras smiles back at his brother. 'And we will go into this battle as we have gone to all that came before.'

Amrod nods. 'Side by side, as always.'

Amrod goes to stoke the fire, and Amras is struck by the resemblance, half-forgotten because it has been too painful, between his twin and their mother. Face flushed from the warmth of the fire, dark auburn hair in a simple braid, dressed in deep blue as Nerdanel liked to do, Amrod seems to have very little of their father and much of their mother in him.

For once it is a comforting thought, and Amras grows relaxed and sleepy as he lazily watches his brother bustle around the room, gathering things and packing saddlebags. _I will rest awhile, then come help you_ , he thinks at Amrod, who sends back thoughts of reassurance. _Take your time_.

So Amras's thoughts are free to wander again, and they wander back to the parent he left behind when he followed his father to war.

'Mother loved autumn days like this', he says. 'When it was cold and clear.'

Amrod glances out the window again. 'It is colder here than it was there, and the light is different, but the turning of seasons still feels the same somehow. Yes, mother would have liked this day.'

They haven't spoken of their mother for years, and they speak no more of her now. Amrod returns to packing and Amras settles back in his hard-backed chair, glad of having learnt long ago to be comfortable in uncomfortable places. Soon he drifts back into that land between wakefulness and sleep where thoughts arrive that the waking mind would banish.

The thoughts are of home. He has not had home other than his brothers for a long time, and even that has been disappearing piece by piece along with the deaths of Celegorm, Caranthir and Curufin as well as the absence of anything like a smile on Maedhros's scarred face since the battle of tears and the silence that more and more often reigns where Maglor's powerful voice and sweet harping used to echo.

Amrod at least is as he always was, if a little quieter. Amras is indescribably grateful for it, for he would be truly homeless if he lost his twin, whether to an elven or orcish blade or to despair. They are to each other the thing that keeps the other one afloat and awake and alive, have been ever since the first time they washed blood off their hands.

They have done that so many times that it became easy routine centuries ago but the crimson dreams afterwards have never stopped, the ones from which Amras wakes screaming for mercy, for his twin, for his mother.

 _Oh, mother_. The more weary Amras becomes of his father's irrevocable Oath, the more he misses his mother. Slipping towards sleep now, he remembers her gentle smile; it was trembling and teary when she bid them goodbye…

_One day, mother, one way or another, we will come home to you, though all the powers deny us that right. We have defied them for centuries, and we will defy them in this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :) This was the first fic I wrote where Amrod and Amras are more than supporting characters and it was an interesting process to develop personalities for them since we know so little about them.


End file.
